


Let Them Wait

by Deathstar510



Series: Worlds Apart, Brought Together [3]
Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Culture Shock, Floki/Helga/Torstein is implied but not elaborated on, Fluff and Angst, Human Sacrifice, M/M, More established Floki/Ragnar with pre-relationship OT3, Religious Guilt, This was a one shot but now I'm extending it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:07:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27279241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deathstar510/pseuds/Deathstar510
Summary: Uppsala weighs on those left behind, some more heavily than others. Athelstan grieves, Ragnar tries to understand, and Floki thinks everyone is being very dramatic about it.
Relationships: Athelstan/Floki/Ragnar Lothbrok
Series: Worlds Apart, Brought Together [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2096247
Comments: 38
Kudos: 37





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SylverLining](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SylverLining/gifts).



> Gifting this to Sylver because this is the first fic I have written in three years and it is fully because of them I watched this show.

That first night without Leif weighed heavier than they ever could have imagined.

It wasn’t grief that settled like a blanket of snow over the room, not precisely anyway. Leif had gone to the gods, willingly and joyful; he feasted with Odin at this very moment, happier than any of them could ever be back here in Midgard. But his absence still felt like a missing note in the world’s song, a skip in the rhythm that couldn’t quite be ignored. 

That they could miss him already, mere hours after his sacrifice, spoke to his fitness. If they loved him so much, surely the gods would as well.

Still, while the gods may celebrate Leif’s arrival in their halls, the night fell somber and quiet in those he’d left behind. Athelstan had disappeared outside an hour ago and Ragnar hadn't followed. Give him his time alone - Ragnar had put a lot on his priest during these holy days, more pressure than he’d perhaps had a right to lay on him. If the priest had not made his way back before much longer, then he would check on him, if only to make sure he hadn’t managed to lose himself in the forest.

Ragnar turned his attention instead to the other near sacrifice in the room. Floki hadn’t gotten far in his attempt to volunteer to lay beneath the blade. Maybe he even thought Ragnar hadn’t noticed him try, as if there had ever been a time Ragnar wasn’t paying close attention to his shipwright.

His stare went unnoticed, even when it drifted into minutes long, and finally Ragnar spoke up, voice hushed to not disturb those lucky ones that had managed to find sleep already. “You should be more thoughtful, Floki.” Even in a whisper, Ragnar’s voice cut through the quiet night and Floki jumped, looking up from where he’d been watching the fire intently, eyes wide and bright in the dim light and kohl smudged on his cheeks. If it happened to be tears that had made it run like that, Ragnar knew it was best not to make mention of it. “What would Helga have done if you had gone to meet the gods so soon?”

Floki straightened up from his hunched position, thoughtful for only a moment before he shrugged with one shoulder. His head tilted towards his not-yet-wife and the bear of a man curled protectively around her, keeping her comfortable in his absence. “Torstein would take care of her.” He flashed the slightest of smiles, as if just the thought warmed him as much as the fire he sat by. “I trust him to ensure she would want for nothing, if it came to that.”

An easy answer, and one that seemed too well prepared and thought through for Ragnar’s taste, as if it had been rehearsed for just such an occasion. Clearly Floki had been considering the concept of sacrifice too long. Ragnar made a considering noise in the back of his throat, and Floki took it as a summons, coming just a bit closer to him. “And what of me?” Ragnar asked when Floki settled again, curled up on himself tighter than a man his height should be able to.

Floki’s smile twitched back onto his face and, soon, smiling became laughing, starting low and quiet in his chest before rising through his throat like smoke on the wind, escaping as his expected high pitched and reedy giggle. “You take care of yourself, Ragnar Lothbrok. You don’t need me around to do that.” His voice softened, just a touch. “Besides. I would still be waiting for you in Valhalla one day. You wouldn’t be rid of me just yet.”

Now Ragnar smiled too, reaching out with one arm to take Floki’s shoulder. One effortless tug dragged him most of the way into Ragnar’s lap and Floki soon closed the little distance that remained. He curled up again, insistent on making his body fit perfectly against Ragnar’s no matter how much effort it took to get there. 

Only once he’d settled did Ragnar speak again. “Then perhaps I am just selfish, to not need you but want you anyway.” He leaned down to press a kiss to Floki’s thin hair, then stayed there, nose buried against him, inhaling him. It muffled his voice, but he knew Floki heard him, as clearly as he heard the planks in the trees. “Let the gods be the ones to wait for once.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the one shot becomes a chapter fic... I got a few more ideas that grew out of the original little scene. Athelstan really needed someone to reach out to him after Uppsala and damn it I'm going to give it to him.

Whispered conversation came easily to them in the quiet, and Floki had kept up his side of it long after Ragnar had run out of things to say in return. He spoke softly, nonsensically, sentences running together with seemingly little to connect them unless the listener, like Ragnar, was intimately familiar with every twist and turn of that brilliant and scattered mind. Like many nights before, he watched it unfold like a performance, Floki’s long fingered hands weaving slowly through the air as he spun his silken lines of thought until he had a complete tale to show for it, sprawling and wild but beautiful all the same.

Still, even the most complex webs must eventually complete, and that seemingly tireless stream of words had finally run dry. Floki lay still now against his side, his breathing not quite even enough for him to be asleep, but on its way there. Ragnar would have loved to let himself slip away alongside him and sleep huddled up and warm beside the fire together.

But Athelstan had not returned yet.

The priest’s absence had started to nag at him again during Floki’s tale and now, without the constant balm of that familiar voice to ease him, it pushed its way to the forefront of his mind. The worry that had started so small now wrapped its way around his thoughts, crushing him like a coiling snake.

Athelstan couldn’t have run away. Surely not. No matter how hard the sacrifices - _Leif’s_ sacrifice - may weigh on his heart, he wouldn’t have been foolish enough to try to make his own way through the snow, all these miles from Kattegat. He had no chance of finding safety, and Athelstan was smart enough to know that.

Ragnar repeated it to himself, tried to be certain of it, and he failed miserably. The snake started to creep its way down his neck, weaving between his ribs and squeezing until it closed around his heart. Overwhelming. Just like the cold night could easily be overwhelming his priest right now, had he gone too far. Ragnar’s hand started to drum on his knee of its own accord, anxious energy now overflowing and finding its escape any way it could.

“Floki,” he said finally, and when that got no response, he gave the man at his side a firm jostle. “ _Floki_.” Finally, a short noise. Floki lifted his head in a slow movement, blinking up at Ragnar with his mouth twisted into the smallest frown. “Don’t look at me like that, I know you weren’t asleep. I’d never have been able to wake you if you were.”

Floki huffed, then yawned and tried to lay his head back down against Ragnar’s chest. “Just because a man isn’t asleep doesn’t mean it’s not rude to wake him.”

“You’ll get over it.” Ragnar ruffled a hand through Floki’s hair, almost an apology, before giving a little tug at the back of it to keep him from drifting off to sleep again. “I need you to get up.”

If anything, that made Floki look even more dedicated to staying right where he was. “We’ve gotten so comfortable here, Ragnar, what’s the point?” He shifted and his bony elbow started digging into Ragnar’s side. “I’m tired, and you’re warm.”

Another push from Ragnar finally got him to sit up entirely, and he had to reach out to put a hand on Floki’s chest to stop him from simply flopping back over his lap like the overgrown cat of a man that he was.

“Athelstan isn’t back yet,” Ragnar told him, and that got him a moment of seriousness flashed across that kohl-smudged face.

Floki sat up straight, made a noise in the back of his throat as he considered the words. Finally he mumbled, “I suppose it’s not a surprise.”

“How is it not a sur-”

“You frightened him, Ragnar.” Floki said it as calmly as if he hadn’t just interrupted an Earl. “He thought he knew where he stood with you, but then you had to go and upend it with…” His nose wrinkled. “Whatever this plan of yours was.”

Ragnar set his jaw. “He wasn’t in any danger. I knew he wouldn’t be accepted.” 

He had made absolute sure of it too, before ever even considering bringing him here. Athelstan often thought himself stealthy, brushing fingers over the cross on his wrist when he thought no one was looking, but Ragnar had caught sight of it all the same and made note of it. A Christian, even a wavering one, would never be given to the gods. He knew it, Floki knew it. He would have hoped Athelstan had known it, but this disappearance of his said otherwise.

Floki sat forward, elbows on his crossed legs. “Still, you offered him, and you told him nothing of what you planned. I was surprised to see him willing to come in the first place. Did you even tell him what happens here?”

His gaze had been on the door while he spoke, but now it drifted to Ragnar and he paused for a reply that he wasn’t going to get. It hardly mattered. Floki already knew the answer without his response. Still, his silent stare stretched on and eventually Ragnar gave in, sullenly repeating, “I knew he wouldn’t be accepted.”

“Mmm, you knew. Did your priest?”

The frustration that filled him came as a welcome relief from that pressing feeling that he’d done something wrong. Ragnar could handle frustration. “The sacrifices must be willing, and they must be faithful. Once he was rejected, he should have understood that I put him in no danger. Any of us would have known, you would have seen what I was doing, had I told you.”

“But he’s not one of us, is he?” Floki tilted his head but didn’t break his stare. “He’s a _Christian_.” A moment of silence let Ragnar ponder the words, but only for that one moment before Floki continued, “I’ll tell you again - you frightened him. Is it any wonder he hasn’t come back inside? He doesn’t know what you mean for him anymore.”

Were it anyone else he spoke to, Ragnar could simply stand up and walk away and expect it to be let go. Floki though, Floki rarely let anything go. Even if he dropped it now, Ragnar would hear about it in a week or a month or a year, same as Rollo could expect barbed words about baptisms for the rest of his life.

“Enough.” The only way to tear Floki away from a bone to pick was to give him what he wanted and admit he was right. Ragnar wasn’t about to say so out loud, but he could do the next best thing. “I will find him, I will explain it to him, and we can put all of this behind us before the trip home.” Ragnar made to stand-

-and found himself immediately snagged by the waistband. In any other situation he’d appreciate Floki’s long and clever fingers dipping beneath his clothes, but Floki was clearly in no mood to do much of anything enjoyable. Instead he yanked harshly, pulling Ragnar back down beside him with a heavy thud.

“You will sit. I will go. If he’s been avoiding you this much, seeing you now might just make him run off again to be eaten by a bear.” He unfolded himself from his hunched position and rose, stretching gangly arms above his head, nearly high enough to brush the rafters. “Shall I tell him you’re sorry?”

Ragnar made a harsh noise, then settled himself back against the wall. He averted his gaze, not wanting to meet Floki’s eyes. “…Just be gentle with him.”

Floki smiled his wide trickster’s smile. “Now Ragnar, when have I ever been anything else?”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Small warning for light blood here, Leif's body makes an appearance, but nothing graphic.

If there was one thing to appreciate in all of this, at least Athelstan had waited until everyone had begun leaving before he panicked. Finding him would have been much harder were the faithful all still here and roaming, forcing Floki to look through their tangled bodies in order to pick out their wayward priest. The trees were making it hard enough to see as it was.

They were thick and hid many secrets, but they spoke to him, the trees of Uppsala, just not in the same language as the ones back home. Their words were quiet, almost muffled, difficult to hear and more difficult to track, not at all like Kattegat’s familiar song that Floki could lose himself in without thinking. Different lands held different spirits, different souls in their woods, and spoke with words that were strange but not impossible to follow. If he quieted, and listened, Floki could still feel the tug at his heart that led him deeper into the woods, and he trusted that the gods would not steer him wrong in this holy place.

When the gentle pull led him to the altar, its surface still stained dark and red from the day’s sacrifices, the shape of the priest’s torment started to form. Athelstan was not to be found at the altar itself, but Floki didn’t need the gods to tell him where to go from here. Christians seemed to love to torment themselves, and Athelstan most of all, and there was only one place that would make him feel worse than the site of all of that death.

The corpses of the sacrificed hung not far away. As he drew close to them, Floki’s eyes drifted from the gently swaying silhouettes to the huddled form beside them, tucked tight in on itself like a child hiding from the sparks of Thor’s hammer.

Athelstan didn’t look up when Floki approached him. His gaze was locked tight on the dead, and most specifically on Leif with his dangling arms and open throat and last remnants of blood still drip, drip, dripping onto the leaves below him. The cross that spared his life was off his wrist now, clutched tight in the priest’s trembling hands, and his mouth worked in silent whispers that might have been prayers.

Floki stood and watched him, and Athelstan noticed nothing, saw nothing but what was in front of him, which he stared at wide eyed and fearful. Poor thing, to be seeing the gods and the holiness of this place, the faith of their people, all without the mind to understand it. Ragnar had done him no favors by not preparing him. It was no wonder he had run.

He waited, and when it seemed that Athelstan truly was blind to the world around him, Floki called out in a low voice, “He’s not there any longer, priest.”

Athelstan’s head snapped up like a deer that had heard the crunch of a hunter’s boot. His eyes were somehow even wider, and he shook from the night’s chill - likely a dose of fear as well. Pulling his cloak tighter around himself, Floki approached him slowly, careful not to startle, as if he were soothing a frightened animal. It had been hard enough to find him once, Floki didn’t know how long it would take to do again, were he to spring away in his nervousness.

So he kept his hands down, his head lowered, made himself smaller than he was, as much as was possible. When his presence didn’t immediately frighten Athelstan away, Floki continued speaking, soft and lilting. “He will not return, no matter how long you sit. There is little left for him here. The halls of Valhalla are filled with song and drink, brighter than anything we could offer him. Likely a lot warmer too.”

Still no response, though Athelstan at least stopped looking at him like he expected to be attacked, which was something. Floki stood beside him now, and he let himself lean back against the nearest tree, watching for a moment before following the priest’s gaze to the hanging sacrifices.

He had been to Uppsala, once, before Ragnar and Kattegat, when he was still only a child and unsure of who he was, less grounded in his faith. They were the first humans he’d ever watched step up for sacrifice, those nine faithful that offered themselves and lay upon the altar, calm but eager as they made their journey to the gods. Floki hadn’t been afraid, exactly, but he’d been overwhelmed nearly to the point of sickness by the weight of it all, the _belief_ , even having known exactly what to expect.

He now saw the same sickness in Athelstan’s eyes, his heart crushed by the heaviness of sacrifice and blood. But even as a faltering child, Floki had always known the truth of the gods, deep in his heart, and Uppsala had only made him understand that which he already knew. Whatever it was the Christ god taught his followers, it was not enough to grant Athelstan that same understanding.

Floki chewed at the inside of his cheek, tapped his fingers at the bark he leaned against; the roughness kept him grounded in the now, where he was needed. “They aren’t gone,” he said finally. “Even if they are not here. They’re with the gods now, and it is not an unhappy thing. Leif is certainly having a better time of it than you are right now.”

He’d meant the last part as a joke, but it seemed it was not appreciated, because Athelstan flinched down again and clutched his cross tighter in his hand. Floki half expected to see blood trickling down his wrist with how harshly the thing must have been digging into Athelstan’s palm.

Floki clicked his tongue, carefully searching out his next words. “Sacrifice is not a bad thing. You will learn that, in time.”

When Athelstan finally responded, he almost didn’t recognize the voice. It came out rough, pained, wavering. “Did you know?”

And there was the difficult but inevitable question. As they always did when he didn’t know what would help, Floki’s words vanished from his mind like the last twisting sparks of a doused fire. His mouth felt as if he were trying to form it around foreign, unfamiliar words shouted to a man too far away to hear him anyway. But silence, perhaps, would be worse, so while he knew he was throwing himself full bodied into a futile task that would do nothing but frustrate them both, he said the only thing that came to mind. “I would have thought he’d have told you.”

Athelstan looked like he’d been slapped and Floki cursed his foolish tongue. “So it’s true.” the priest said in his tortured voice. “I was brought here to die, and everyone knew it but me.”

“You weren’t in danger.” Floki fidgeted, dug his fingers back into the bark so his mind wouldn’t try to float away from him again. “The gods would not want a Christian sacrifice, and Ragnar knew this.”

“So he was trying to trick them then, to give up a slave instead of someone that mattered, it makes little difference.” If he had thought Athelstan’s voice to be tortured before, now it seemed close to breaking. “I just thought he… I thought many things. But it is clear now that I was wron-”

“No!” It came out sharper than he meant it, but at least he got Athelstan’s attention. Unfortunately, it also meant he now had to think of what to say next. One hand unthinkingly came up to pluck at his already sparse hair, and it was only when he’d pulled out several strands from the side of his head that he realized what he was doing and forced it back down.

After a moment’s uncomfortable silence, he sighed, extended that same hand to the priest. “Comfort is difficult, and I am not very good at it,” he admitted. “But I’d like to try to explain, if you will let me.”

Athelstan swallowed hard, looked from his face to his hand. And then, slowly, so slowly, he took it.


	4. Chapter 4

Floki lifted him effortlessly to his feet with just the one hand wrapped around Athelstan’s, and not for the first time, he found himself marveling at the strength hidden in those wiry limbs. Next to men like Rollo and Ragnar, Floki seemed thin, nearly frail, but these were still hands that built ships, that saved and ended lives, and they were more than strong enough to maneuver Athelstan around like a child.

That firm hand stayed wrapped momentarily around his, skin burning hot against Athelstan’s in the cold night air, before Floki gave a quick squeeze and released him. He patted gently between Athelstan’s shoulder blades, urging him forward. “We should move along, priest,” he said, voice still low and careful, as if he expected Athelstan to try and run again at the first hint of sharpness. “There is no reason for us to stay among the dead.”

“Because they are not here,” Athelstan replied, echoing Floki’s earlier words. “So you’ve said.”

His eyes were locked on the corpses still, though he felt increasingly like he was seeing past them rather than actually looking at them. His connection to reality felt as if it had faded in and out the whole time they had been at Uppsala and, right now, it seemed the lines connecting him to the present were more frayed than ever, as if this were all a dream or a trick played upon him. 

Leif’s hands dangled several feet above the grass, lax and loose. Those same hands had steadied him so carefully the night before, when Athelstan could hardly think past the mushrooms he’d been offered. His voice calm, grounding, promising that he would be held up by the gods, providing that much needed anchor that kept Athelstan present in this world when his mind tried so hard to wander away from it.

Those hands would never hold a weapon or touch his shoulders again. Those lips would never curl into a smile, that voice would never calm another frightened soul. Athelstan thought of that and it hurt somewhere deep in his chest, made his stomach roll and fire burn through his throat. He craved the easy acceptance everyone else had, the intrinsic belief that this was necessary and needed that seemed to bring the pagans such peace.

Another part of him, just as loud, feared the idea of ever finding such an understanding. If he accepted this, would it change him? Surely it would have to, and Athelstan didn’t know what he would think of the man he could become.

Floki let him stand with his thoughts for another moment before giving him another, more solid, pat on the back that rocked him forward just a bit. “And I will say it again. You stand here only to torment yourself, nothing more. It will only help matters to leave.”

He spoke the truth, but Athelstan was rooted to the spot all the same. Floki watched him, folding long arms over his chest, and sighed. “If you wish to say your goodbyes, you can do so. No one expects you to feel no sorrow. A shell it may be, but it is a shell that we loved for a time. If that is what you want, though, you must do so and go. Leif did not sacrifice himself for you to suffer this way.”

“Then why did he?” Athelstan did not mean the question to come out as an accusation, but it seemed his voice held its own thoughts. He winced, wished to take it back almost the instant he spoke, but Floki seemed unbothered by his tone so he hesitantly allowed himself to continue, though he did so more carefully. “Why do the gods want this? The blood and death of their followers? Who does this serve?”

He half expected to receive only a dismissive snort in response, so when Floki stayed silent and actually considered his question, Athelstan could do nothing to wait, finally tearing his eyes from the bodies in order to look at his companion. Finally, Floki said simply, “Did your god not ask the same?”

So it seemed Floki did pay attention to Athelstan’s stories. He could never tell, with the way Floki’s mind seemed to wander at all times. Athelstan chewed at the inside of his cheek. “…Christ died for mankind’s redemption, yes, bu-”

“For all the humans in Midgard.” Floki said it softly, like a distant echo, and in it Athelstan heard Leif’s voice, strong and deep and powerful with belief. “Our gods ask for blood, but only from the willing, and we honor those who give what they ask, for all of our sakes’.”

He fell silent long enough that Floki looked to him again, and Athelstan was sure that if he met that sharp gaze he’d find worry there. “…You would have been honored,” Floki said after a moment. It sparked a feeling that could have been fear or could have been grief, but it made him nauseous all the same, even though he knew Floki meant it well. “But a sacrifice must be willing. That you weren’t means that you would never be taken, even were you not what you are.”

“A Christian, you mean.” Athelstan ran his fingers over the cross still clutched in his hand. The metal was warm, and slick with the nervous sweat that had plagued him since discovering the purpose of this place. He closed his fist tightly, squeezed until the edges dug into his skin again. The pain grounded him, made his mind settle as he tried to find his words. “Why did Ragnar offer me then, if you say he didn’t expect me to be killed?”

No answer came at first, and Athelstan felt his heart clench around the fear that he had caught Floki in a lie. That Ragnar had indeed meant for him to die. That he meant less than he thought he did to the man he’d grown to care so deeply for. But finally, Floki did reply, voice low and soothing. “I think that’s for him to explain. I can do my best to try, but it wouldn’t mean as much from me. What I can say is that Ragnar always meant for you to come home with us, and no one ever expected anything differently.”

Maybe he believed him only because he wanted to and no other reason, but all the same, Athelstan nodded. Floki gave one last touch in the form of a gentle squeeze on his shoulder. “Now,” the man said, with a faint smile. “As I said, you can say your goodbyes to him, but it is best that we leave here soon after. This is not a place for the living any longer.”

His goodbyes. Athelstan’s throat was dry, and his mind empty as he looked up one last time at the bodies. Nine men. Nine corpses. One face that he had seen so alive that would never be so again. Who sacrificed himself in Athelstan’s place for everyone here, his friends and family and every human in Midgard, taken a burden on that he had previously thought could only be shouldered by Christ himself.

“For god so loved the world,” he whispered under his breath, “that he gave his only begotten Son.”

The words came out in his native Saxon, barely audible, but he felt Floki’s eyes on him anyway, followed by a heat that rose up through his body and into his face. Floki had to know it was a prayer, even if he couldn’t understand the words, and only now that he was caught did Athelstan think of how wrong it must be to speak scripture over the body of a man who died so fiercely and proudly pagan.

“I’m sorry,” he said, stumbling over his words. “I don’t know anything else to offer him.”

Floki watched him a moment longer. “Then I suppose your Christian words will have to do. I think he will be alright with them, in the end.” One long finger tapped at Athelstan’s clenched fist. “Now come, stow that cross away and let us go. And keep it hidden, there may be some faithful still lingering around, and not all will be tolerant to see the signs of your god in this holy place.” He pulled his cloak tighter around himself, burrowing into it. “I’ll just be grateful to be back inside, where it’s warm.”

He turned to go, but Athelstan did not follow. He felt rooted to the spot, though this time not by the presence of the dead men but by a half present memory. When Floki realized he was walking alone, he paused, half turning to look at him. “Priest?”

“You tried to sacrifice yourself too.” Athelstan had nearly forgotten it with all that followed, but he remembered now the way Floki had half stood, nervous determination on his face. “Helga stopped you.”

“I did. Why wouldn’t I volunteer?” Floki tipped his head to the side. “As I said, it is something to be honored. A glory to the gods, and for the benefit of everyone. Even those that don’t believe. It’s sacred, to die for such a thing.” He spoke the words casually, as if it were obvious, and perhaps to someone that truly knew their gods it would be.

But Athelstan still went through life a Christian, as much as his faith wavered in his time here, and where Floki saw glory he thought only of the blade that cut each of the sacrifices’ throats. He imagined King Horik’s hand around the hilt, that long edge hovering above Floki’s thin throat, how his lean body would be tall and small all at the same time, hung beside the other sacrifices, once spirited face dead and empty-

Athelstan shut his eyes, though it didn’t banish the thought from his mind. “I’m glad you didn’t do it. I don’t want you gone, either.” He didn’t get a response at first. Athelstan could feel the heat in his face again, and he lifted his head to look Floki in the eye. “Is that selfish of me?”

“Maybe,” Floki answered, and his heart fell just a little. Floki must have seen the pained look, because he took a step forward and tipped Athelstan’s face up gently. His touch was soft, and his eyes softer, light blue surrounded by smudged kohl. Athelstan realized for the first time that he looked like he’d been tearing up through the night, not as unaffected by their losses as Athelstan had thought. “But Ragnar was selfish in the same way, you know. With both of us. And you saw Helga hold me back. It is not so wrong, to be selfish. If sacrifice were easy, it would not be so special to do it.”

“In my world, selfishness is a sin.”

Floki let out one of his ringing giggles, shaking his head. “You speak of sin all the time, priest. So obsessed with a thing you claim you can never be rid of. Sin means nothing to us, and this is your world now so it is more fitting that you learn to let it roll off of you the same way. You will be happier for it. Unless that too is a sin?”

It was, but Athelstan didn’t tell him so. Instead, he simply nodded. This time, when Floki started walking again, Athelstan followed.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we wrap it all up with an Athelnar chapter... I've noticed the chapter lengths have been increasing with each one too, so good thing we're ending it here before I start babbling into the 3-4K range per chapter. Enjoy Athelstan and Ragnar finally, finally talking about things instead of just whooshing past each other.

Athelstan had thought himself ready. 

Bolstered by Floki’s words and the hope that it would all make sense if he let Ragnar explain himself, he’d let himself think that he could make it through the rest of the night without fear or panic. But as soon as they returned to Ragnar still awake and crouched over the central fire, his eyes reflecting the light of it, he realized he’d been a fool to think he could ever be ready. He froze just inside the door, stopping in his tracks so suddenly that Floki bumped up against his back. Standing there, Athelstan felt more than ever like a frightened child, caught alone in the dark.

But, frightened as he may be, he wasn’t alone. Floki’s long fingered hand closed around his shoulder again, urging him forward firmly but carefully. “None of that now, priest. No harm will come to you here, I promise that.” Floki’s voice was low, only for him to hear, and though his legs still felt heavy, like they were encased in irons, Athelstan let himself be led inside and to the fire. Floki directed him to sit, and he did so; it seemed he could do nothing right now but listen.

Ragnar smiled at him, that small and warm smile that so often made Athelstan’s heart come alive in his chest. It did just that now, beating as quickly as if he had the wings of a bird fluttering against the inside of his ribcage. But, at the same time, it made his mouth go dry, his stomach twist with a fearful kind of uncertainty he had not felt since his first several days in Kattegat, back when he hadn’t known where he stood with Ragnar, or what his fate would be in this strange new world.

His eyes dropped at the dark memories, and Ragnar’s smile did too. Ragnar sighed, and Athelstan looked up through his eyelashes to see the man looking helplessly at him. His mouth worked around unspoken words before he finally managed, “I am glad to see you safe, Athelstan. You worried us, disappearing as you did.”

_Worried us_ , he said, but Athelstan thought that perhaps _worried me_ was closer to what he meant. 

“…I needed to think,” he replied, slowly, and then winced at his own voice. He couldn’t seem to raise it above that raspy whisper just yet, and the hoarseness sounded wrong coming from his throat.

Ragnar waited for him to continue, only speaking when the silence stretched out for several seconds. “And now that you’ve had the time?”

Athelstan breathed in slowly, then out. Swallowed the fear that still sat swollen and painful in his throat. “Now… now I think we need to talk.”

“And so we will.” The smile flashed at him again, slow and careful, and there went his heart, foolishly beating and fluttering without a care for the situation. Ragnar’s eyes flicked up. “Floki. Thank you for bringing him home. But go to bed. I think it’s best if we have this talk alone.”

Floki let out a odd noise, almost a stuttering and uncertain whine, and shifted in his place beside Athelstan. “Ragnar, I-”

Ragnar raised a hand and the motion silenced Floki as solidly as if it had just been laid over his mouth. He pointed to Torstein curled up by the wall, his big body nearly completely obscuring Helga’s smaller form in his arms. “Go to bed,” Ragnar repeated. “There will be plenty of gossip for you to listen in on when we start our way back home, I promise you.”

That first long winter here had given Athelstan many versions of this scene, when Ragnar was wounded and all of them bunched up together in Floki’s home. Ragnar often directed Floki in one way or another, the master of the house even when it was not actually his house, and Athelstan did not need to see Floki’s face to imagine the look on it, that specific twist to his mouth that tried to look like a pout but only ever managed to look exactly like the half suppressed giggle it was. He would play put out, drag his feet to follow the command - but Floki would always listen when Ragnar took that tone with him.

As expected, Floki did move, but rather than obeying right away he knelt beside Athelstan, nudging him with a shoulder. “Do not let him frighten you, priest. Remember what I have told you.” Before Athelstan could answer, he leaned in to press a quick kiss to Athelstan’s forehead, just at his hairline. The northmen were an unexpectedly affectionate people. It had taken Athelstan a long while to get used to how affectionate, but after all this time it no longer shocked him. He just smiled as Floki stood, the expression shy and too brief across his face.

With one last gentle ruffle of Athelstan’s hair, Floki left the light of the fire. Cloak and boots were quickly shucked off and he wriggled his way under furs to wrap himself tightly against Torstein’s back, his face buried in blonde hair, and one long arm reached around the man to tangle his fingers together with Helga’s. Athelstan watched him settle, let the silence fall over them for a few moments as the warmth of the gentle kiss faded from his skin. When he turned back to Ragnar he had words in mind, but then their eyes met and it was as if Athelstan had never learned how to speak at all. He needed to try, but all the thoughts in his head failed him at once and he ended up just staring, as wet eyed and lost in that moment as he had been when he first disappeared into the woods.

For a while, Ragnar was silent too. He couldn’t seem to hold still, knee bouncing in place, and hand rustling behind him for a blanket to pull around his shoulders like a barrier against the awkward energy that had begun to fill the room. His eyes had fallen from Athelstan to the fire, and now he stared into it so intently it was like he was trying to find the perfect way to start the conversation hidden somewhere within the flames.

Finally, when Athelstan thought he could take no more, Ragnar ended both their suffering. “I’m sorry.” He swallowed thickly. Athelstan watched the way that his leg stilled, one heavy hand going to clutch at his knee as if to hold it that way. “Scaring you wasn’t my intention.”

“Then what was?” For once, it seemed his voice would cooperate with him; the words didn’t come out as the accusation that they could have been. “Floki said the same thing, that you didn’t want me hurt, but he wouldn’t tell me… What did you want?”

Ragnar chuckled, and it wasn’t the warm sound that Athelstan had come to expect out of him. He shook his head. “I wanted many things. I thought you would understand my reasons, but I now see I gave you nothing to understand them with.” After a moment, he raised one arm, taking the blanket with it to expose his side. “You look cold. You can sit here, but only if it’s what you want.”

Athelstan had to think about it and, to his credit, Ragnar gave him the silent space to think in. He was still lost, still hurt - and a little afraid if he was honest with himself. But the space at Ragnar’s side looked warm and inviting, and after a moment, Athelstan crawled into it and let the blanket and Ragnar’s arm fall heavily over his shoulders.

This was where Ragnar normally pulled him tight against his side, let him curl into him like a child, but he seemed content tonight to just rest an arm over Athelstan and keep him warm.

“You’ve been afraid since Haraldson’s funeral.” Ragnar didn’t say it as a question, so Athelstan didn’t bother to tell him he was right. “With the slave girl. The sacrifices frighten you, and you don’t understand them. I wanted to…” He sighed and the muscles in his arm twitch like he wanted to tighten his arm around Athelstan but was holding himself back. “I wanted to show you that it was nothing to be frightened of.”

Only when Ragnar made no move to elaborate further did Athelstan reply, slowly, and careful to keep any sarcasm out of his tone. “…By making me think I would be sacrificed?”

Ragnar winced. “When you say it like that it sounds stupid. What I wanted you to see was that someone unwilling would never be accepted.” Though he kept his eyes on the fire while speaking, Athelstan knew Ragnar’s attention was entirely on him. “…And to make you see that you were worthy of being considered.”

“Worthy?”

“When the sacrifices were brought out, who were they? Who did you see?” Athelstan had to think on that. Outside of Leif, it was hard to remember any of the faces that had passed them by. He’d hardly have any hope of recognizing them, anyway, through the way his eyes had welled with tears. A spike of guilt ran through him; this was the last thing any of them would do in this life, and Athelstan had forgotten their faces within the day. Seeing him about to disappear into his own thoughts, Ragnar brought him back to reality with a single jostle of his arm. “They were warriors and freed men, Athelstan. Beloved to us, to their people and the world, and that is why we knew they would be beloved by the gods as well. To be offered is to be valued, to be considered is a high honor.”

None of that eased the twist of nerves, though he knew Ragnar believed what he said. Valued he may be, but a dead man being valued didn’t make him any less dead. Athelstan averted his eyes. “And to die for the gods, I’m sure, the highest of honors. But you say you didn’t want me to die.”

“No. I didn’t.” Ragnar sighed. “I… didn’t want any of you to die. But a man who’s been blessed to be Earl, who’s lost a child, a son, in exchange. He must prove the god’s favor him, or his claim will look weak. He must _earn_ the god’s favor. Nothing short of giving them a life would do.” Athelstan could hear the emotion tinging his voice at the end, and looked up to see him watching their sleeping companions. “But how was I to pick?”

He squeezed Athelstan to his side now, almost seeming not to notice he was doing it. “So I offered one of the most important people I had to give, knowing that the gods would not take him. I didn’t want to lose Leif, either, but asking it this way means no one was forced to say no to the honor of their earl asking their sacrifice.”

It made sense, in that strange northern way that still felt completely foreign to Athelstan even as he grew to understand it. Easier to ask them all than to pick someone to ask. Easier to answer to a priest than your friend and earl. Still… “It could have been Floki who volunteered, you know.”

Ragnar responded in a firm tone, “I would not have let it be Floki. There is a reason I did not ask or offer him. He would have agreed, been found worthy, and the gods would have rejoiced to have him.” His eyes drifted over to the cluster of bodies where Floki lay. He had wrapped himself entirely around Torstein like a vine, legs twisted around his, arms around his chest, and face buried deeply in his neck. He’d seemingly fallen asleep quickly, his breathing slow and steady, though even at rest his body often convulsed and twitched like a pup in the midst of a dream.

Ragnar looked at him as if he were the world. When his eyes returned to Athelstan, that look didn’t change or fade. “I would not have let it be you, either, even if it was me who volunteered you. I’m not asking that you forgive me straight away, or at all if it’s not your wish, but know that you are as safe as you ever were here.” Another squeeze, this one intentional and reassuring. “Nothing has changed in my view of you.”

Athelstan could have left it there. A part of him wanted to. But the part of him that demanded to _know_ made him continue. “I have only one more question. Why would you not at least tell me?”

That only got him a chuckle and a shake of the head. “Because I know you. And if I had told you, and you had found out that your refusal meant someone else must step up in your place, you never would have let yourself be rejected. You would not stand for someone dying for you.” Like Floki before him, he leaned down and kissed the top of Athelstan’s head; it shot another burst of warmth through his whole body. When he spoke next, the words came out directly into Athelstan’s curls. “You would have died bravely for gods you are still uncertain of, gone to Valhalla for how you honored them, and I would see you again. But I have no interest in waiting so long.” Another kiss, this one lingering longer. “Do you understand now?”

For the first time this trip, Athelstan thought that he did.


End file.
